


Soul-less

by JulianGreystoke



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Cure, Death, Friendship, Genophage, ME2, ME3, Singing, friends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2578676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulianGreystoke/pseuds/JulianGreystoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mordin is unpopular with the crew, but Shepard knows he has a wonderful soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soul-less

Soul-less

“My xenoscience studies range from urban to agrarian! I am the very model of the scientist salarian!”

Valkyrie Shepard managed to contain the peals of laughter that were building up inside her. Mordin Solus, the salarian scientist, had finished his song with surprising power for someone who could not have had much in the way of a diaphragm. She also couldn't help but wonder when he had gotten the chance to modify the archaic human song with his own, personal lyrics. He looked at her expectantly, clearing his throat a little self consciously. She decided to do the only thing she could think of. She clapped. Not long, or loud, but she felt he needed some applause. After all, he was actually a very good singer.

She thought she caught the glimmer of a shy smile when she finished her ovation. She was smiling too. “Well,” she said, feeling that anywhere the conversation went after this would never be near as wonderful as where it had just been, “I suppose I had better go check on Grunt. You ready to head back to Tuchanka tomorrow?”

Mordin nodded, “awaiting your orders.”

“Right,” she nodded curtly to him. Admittedly she had been concerned when the salarian doctor had requested, after his own personal business was complete on the krogan home world, to return with her when she went with Grunt. She knew that he had personal issues to do with the genophage and his work with it. He got nothing but stares and insults from the krogan people, except perhaps from Wrex, but then only because he trusted Shepard implicitly. She had not been able to come up with a good enough reason to deny the salarian's request, however, so in the end she had promised him he could go along. Perhaps he wanted to repair what little he could of the great divide that stood between himself and the krogan people, both on the planet, and on the Normandy.

____

She let her team rest up for the night, and the next day they set out. The task was far from easy. Shepard was not over eager to add, “killed a thresher maw on foot” to her ever growing list of accomplishments, but there it was. Check the box marked 'suicidal'. In the end none of the ground team escaped without some kind of injury. Grunt came to her to patch up the cut on his arm. As his new battle master it was her duty. However, she planned to have Chakwas look at her wrist, which was throbbing, and she expected Mordin to see to his own injury, a long cut over his left eye.

When they reached the ship Shepard had to rethink her plan. While on the planet it had been daylight, the Normandy ran on citadel standard time, so it was late and most of the crew were asleep, including Chakwas. Shepard had been injured enough times to she know her wrist was not serious. She'd just take care of it herself.

It took her a while to get around to wandering down to the medbay. She wanted to change clothes first. Dust from Tuchonka was in possibly every crevice of her battle armor and it itched like nobody's business. Once she was showered and changed, by which time her wrist had become slightly swollen, she headed for the medbay.

She almost gasped aloud when the medbay doors hissed open and she realized she was not alone. “Mordin?” she made out his long and lean frame, accented by the marked salarian slouch. He only had one light on and seemed to be working by it.

“Ah, commander,” he said in his usual, clipped speech, “was worried you might not come down. Noticed you had damaged your wrist on Tuchonka.” he had swiveled the chair to face her and held out both hands expectantly.

Without any further thought she strode across the room and set her wrist in his hands. She realized, as the salarian inspected her injury, all the while talking very quickly to himself, how much she trusted him. Previously she would have admitted to being injured only to Chakwas, and probably Joker. The two people who knew her the best out of anyone. Yet she didn't hesitate to trust Mordin with her swollen wrist.

“Hmmm, minor sprain. No lasting damage. Should avoid lifting or carrying with this arm for at least a week.”

“Right,” she said, watching as he took some bandage, which had already been sitting out at his work station, and bound her wrist expertly. His hands, like his speech, were very quick, and he was finished in moments. Shepard flexed her hand and the bandage supplied support without being too tight. “You're a real pro, Mordin,” she said, smiling.

The salarian sat back slightly, folding his hands in his lap. “Indeed. Was always good with quick wound repair. Used to heal small animals as a child. Loved to see the final result. Birds fly again. Rodents scamper away.”

“I didn't know you were interested in medicine that young,” Shepard said, engaged.

“Indeed. Mother wanted me in the STG, though. Always pushing me to be better. Taught me a great deal.” He said, though his face seemed suddenly to have become sad. Was the memory of his mother a painful one?

Shepard looked at the things laid out at the work station. Cotton balls, a bottle of disinfectant, a small tube of medi-gel. She looked back at her friend. He still had the long cut above his eye. He hadn't treated it yet. “Mordin, do you want me to-?” she gestured to the things.

“Wouldn't want to keep you,” he replied curtly.

“I've got no where to be,” she said, picking up the cotton and beginning to clean his green blood, which was crusted around the cut, without another word. Mordin sat quite still as she worked. He also did not speak. This was the quietest she had ever heard him be. She was gentle and he did not flinch, or grimace. After a moment she got the notion that his stillness and silence were not merely out of an effort to allow her to more easily treat his cut. She leaned slightly to look him in his large, dark eyes. They flicked upwards to meet her gaze. “Is something bothering you, Mordin?” she asked. “Was it the mission. I...I saw how you were at Maelon's lab. When you saw the krogan female.” he had been so gentle with her. He'd even said a prayer for the female who had given her life to try to save her race.

Mordin flinched and she realized she'd jabbed him with the swab. She apologized hurriedly, but he waved her words away with his hand. “No, no. Not upset about the krogan. Maelon's betrayal unfortunate, but unavoidable.”

“Then what's bothering you?” she asked, wetting a fresh swab with the disinfectant liquid.

Mordin was never one to keep things to himself. Though he did not often volunteer information, once asked, he would do his best to answer any question, no matter how personal. “Aware of how the crew thinks of me. Have been the target of a few uneasy glances and more than one 'nick name'.”

“Joker,” Shepard sighed, rolling her eyes. She did love the pilot dearly, but he could be a little insensitive at times. Alright, frequently. Sadly she knew the latest nick name the crew had come up with for the salarian scientists. 'Mordin Soul-less', because of his cool outward demeanor and seeming lack of any type of social censor. Still, she was surprised that it would bother Mordin. He didn't seem to have feelings to hurt. Inwardly she chided herself. Of course he did, he just never showed them. For someone who talked almost constantly, he was actually very guarded. “I'm sorry. I'll have a word with them.”

“Not necessary,” he said simply. “Have been around other species before. Am used to stereotypes and mockery that may occur due to unfamiliarity with interspecies societal norms.”

“But it does bother you?” she asked, selecting the medi-gel and applying it to the cut using her finger. The gel knitted the cut neatly, though it had been deep enough that it might leave a small scar. Nothing to the ones the salarian already bore.

“Am not bothered by the crew's opinion.” He reached up a hand and brushed his brow where the wound had been. “Thank you,” he gave her a quick smile.

“No problem,” she said, and instead of leaving she pulled the other chair over to sit with him. “So, if you don't care about the crew's opinion, whose do you care about?” She realized almost as she asked. Hers.

“Was honored and intrigued when asked to join your team. Had known of you a small amount by reputation, but never met you of course. Always admired your ability to hold the line,” he gave her a slightly impish grin. Using that familiar phrase was like their own, private joke. “Was eager to see how you operated. How you lead. What makes you such a force in the galaxy. Must say, was impressed. Did not expect you to be...” he breathed lengthily through his nose, but seemed unable to finish his thought.

“I am who I am,” Shepard shrugged. She didn't like p it when people made a big deal out of her. “No one else was saving the galaxy.”

He shook his head slightly, “no, had to be you. Someone else might have gotten it wrong.”

She almost laughed again. He had a way of being witty without really meaning to. There was something so honest and disarming about Mordin that made her glad that she knew him. “I suppose they would have.”

“As I said, was glad to be included in your team. Was even more pleased when you had time to indulge my own personal issues with Maelon. Most commanders...would not have taken the time.”

“I try to help out my friends when I can,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

“Wanted to say, Commander: have had students, subordinates, commanders, family, but seldom friends. Wanted to say that you...” he hesitated, but did not drop his eyes from hers. “You are my friend.”

“I'm honored, Mordin,” she said, and she meant it.

____

 

Shepard scrambled to her feet. She'd been knocked on her ass for possibly the hundredth time since she had seen that Reaper standing in her way. Near death experiences were how she lived her life. Just running from one to the next. This was no different. However, feeding that Reaper to the thresher maw had to be her new favorite way to almost die. As she watched the organic tear the synthetic a structurally unnecessary ass hole, she couldn't help but laugh aloud. When she wasn't being knocked flat by the massive tremors the fight was causing, or dodging the Reaper's ill-aimed beam weapon.

For a terrifying moment it looked as though the Reaper might have won, but then the maw reappeared and brought the machine down. Shepard could almost hear the giant worm shouting “not on my planet, you metal fucker!”

With that threat out of the way Wrex drove past her in his mako. He didn't bother stopping to pick her up. Though she suspected this might have been because he was a little worried she might want to drive, and none of the old team could recall those days without rubbing their backsides at the memory. She and her team ran up to join Wrex and his unit. Eve sat to one side, wrapped in a blanket and looking very uneasy. “Where's Mordin?” Shepard asked urgently, looking up at the Shroud tower looming above them.

“The salarian went inside. Told us all to stand guard,” Wrex jabbed a thumb in the direction of the door to the tower's base.

“Stay out here,” Shepard instructed Garrus and Liara, then, before her companions could argue, she dashed into the structure after Mordin. She spied him almost at once, in the large control room just through the main doors. She knew at a glance that something was wrong. Tremors kept rocking the entire building, and when she looked up, small explosions burst from the Shroud. She rushed up to stand beside her friend. “Mordin, is the cure ready?” she asked urgently.

“Yes. Loaded for dispersal in two minutes. Procedure traumatic for Eve, but not lethal. Maelon's research invaluable.” He told her that he was glad Eve had survived to stabilize the krogan government and Shepard could not help but agree. Females of any species should be listened to, she thought to herself. “Promising future for krogan,” Mordin continued, still not looking up from his work.

A large hunk of metal fell behind Shepard and she had to fight the urge to grab her fragile companion and carry him forcibly to safety. “Damn!” she shouted, shielding her eyes as small shards of debris flew everywhere.

“Control room at the top of Shroud tower. Must take elevator up,” Mordin said. He still hadn't stopped working or talking, even as everything fell down around them.

“You're going up there?” Shepard asked urgently. She knew for a fact that would be a suicide mission, and not the kind you come back from, as they both had once before.

He turned to her, nodding, “yes, manual access required. Have to counter STG sabotage. Ensure cure is dispersed properly.” he flicked on his omni-tool, checking a few numbers, before deactivating it and meeting her eyes again.

“Mordin, this whole thing is coming apart! There has to be another way!” she shouted desperately.

Mordin turned to look up at the tower. “Remote bypass impossible. STG countermeasures in place. No time to adjust cure for temperature variance,” she saw him square his shoulders, though he still did not face her. “No. No other option.” He hesitated. “Not coming back. Suggest you get clear. Explosion likely to be problematic.”

He began to walk away from her with a steady, determined stride. “Mordin no!” she shouted, following him. If he had to go, she'd go along. It wasn't even a question. She could not let him die alone.

He finally turned and faced her, his voice was gentler. “Shepard, please. Need to do this. My project, my work, my cure, my responsibility.” He breathed in slowly, as though savoring the dusty, Tuchanken air. When he spoke again she heard his voice tremble slightly, “would have liked to run tests on the sea shells.”

Shepard felt her heart stutter, then stab with pain. All he had wanted was to retire to a beach somewhere. Live out his remaining years exploring those limited and pleasant surroundings. Not at the top of a tower, light-years from his home. She stepped towards him again. A good friend was all the home he had now.

“Mordin, never mind what anyone says. You have the strongest, truest soul I have ever known.” she said, reaching out and taking one of his hands. She felt him squeeze her hand in his. Not one for physical affection, she knew that this simple gesture carried with it a depth of sadness that she too felt. The sadness of losing a friend. Then he snapped something free from his arm with his other hand, holding it out to her. His omni-tool generator. It contained all his research, his private files, and images, everything that he was he stored in that tool. She let his hand go, unclipping her own omni-tool and slipping it into a belt pouch, snapping his in its place. He gave her a nod, turned, and walked into the elevator. “I'm sorry,” she told him as she watched him go.

He turned to face her. “I'm not,” he smiled. It was a fulfilled, proud smile. “Had to be me. Someone else might have gotten it wrong.”

Shepard could not keep a small sob from escaping her lips as the doors shut and the elevator took her friend upwards towards his death with far too much speed. Where was a slow citadel elevator when you needed one? She chewed her lips and leaned back and watched it reach the top.

~~~~

To say that he was afraid would have been an understatement. However, he was also determined, and that won over his fear. He'd made a mistake all those years ago. This was his time to correct it. Still, he had heard the sound Shepard had made as the elevator doors closed. A small sound of the purest sadness. For the first time in his life his feeling of duty was shaken, though not defeated. By her. His friend. He tried to breath deeply and focus on the task at hand, but his hands were shaking.

At the top of the tower warnings flashed and the computer announced that a “temperature malfunction was detected.” He marched up to the control panel. No hesitation. No fear? Something exploded to his right and he had to shield himself with his arm. The arm that had once held his omni-tool. He had probably hampered his mission by giving it to her, but he felt he needed to. He needed to leave her something of himself, though now he could not explain why.

As his fingers went to work on the controls it was almost muscle memory. Still, he couldn't shake that empty feeling of fear. He didn't realize he had started to hum until he was actually singing weakly under his breath, “I've studied species turian, asari and batarian...”

“Temperature now within acceptable range. Commencing dispersal,” the computer chirped.

He smiled, relief flooding through him. Still, he kept singing quietly. It might have been the only thing keeping him sane in that moment. Then something crackled in his ear. He hadn't taken out his radio. To his surprise he heard...her! She was singing along. She had the husky, unpracticed voice of a soldier used to barking orders, but it was still pleasant. With the right tutor, he thought, she could be quite good.

~~~~

They stood still. He in the tower, which was exploding all around him, and she on the ground, unable to take her eyes from the place where she knew her friend had stepped bravely into the maw of death. She couldn't bring herself to get a 'safe distance' away. She'd sent the rest of her team on without her. Then she stood with him and they sang together.

“My xenoscience studies range from urban to agrarian,”  
“Your xenoscience studies range from urban to agrarian,”  
“I am the very model of--”  
“You are the very model of a scientist salarian.”


End file.
